


Dream On

by flowersforgraves



Series: BTHB [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: This isn't Maine.





	Dream On

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "'I know you're in there somewhere' fight + Wash and the Meta"
> 
> (card [here](https://flowersforgraves.tumblr.com/post/177921515881/) \-- feel free to prompt me!)

“ _Please!_ ” Wash screams. “Maine, please, it’s me, it’s Wash, it’s me, please, I love you!”

The person (who is not Maine, but who is wearing Maine’s body and face and armor and all the little things that make Maine _Maine_ ) snarls wordlessly and throws another flurry of punches at where Wash had been a second before. It (because this isn’t Maine, it can’t be, it’s a _thing_ who has taken what should be Maine and made it something else) nearly clips him on the side of the helmet. The only thing that saves him is the slide of gravel under his feet, weight shifted to just the right angle to make the stones move.

He’s sobbing, inside his helmet. Crying without tears, every breath tearing into his throat (and his lungs, and his nose and his mouth and his heart, because that’s _not Maine_ , it can’t be, Wash won’t let it be) and making it hard to concentrate on staying out of the way. He doesn’t want to hurt his opponent (because even though it’s not Maine it’s still Maine’s face and hands and scars and everything they’d shared), but he’s beginning to realize he won’t have a choice if he wants to get out of this alive.

“Maine! Maine, _please,_ you can’t be gone, please, Maine, answer me,” and Wash fires another shot just over the shoulder of the person (who is not Maine) in an attempt to stop the relentless advance. But it doesn’t help: there’s nothing he can do to stop the person (who is not Maine) from coming after him again.

This time Wash isn’t quick enough (or lucky enough, or good enough, or _enough_ ) to evade a blow that knocks him flat on his back. Suddenly, the person (who is not Maine) is standing over him, looming threateningly above, and the person (who is not Maine) raises the brute-shot (which is Maine’s, and this person who is not Maine should not be holding it, touching it, using it, because it’s _Maine’s_ ) and makes as if to stab the front of the blade through Wash’s armor and into his heart.

He shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at the person wearing Maine’s body as he dies.

The blow doesn’t come. Wash pauses a second longer, then cracks one eyelid. His heart breaks at the sight of the struggle above him. The person (who is not Maine) is making every effort to bring the brute-shot down and impale him, but something, someone, is resisting. “Maine?” he whispers, frozen in place.

There’s a deep grunt of effort, and the blade dips down another few inches. Wash shakes himself out of his stunned stupor, and crawls out of immediate danger. A second later the tip of the brute-shot smashes into the ground, and Wash’s heart hurts as the person (who is not Maine) seems to push past Maine’s influence. Just like that, Maine is gone again, as if there had never been a Maine and there never will be again.

“Thank you,” and “I’m sorry,” Wash whispers, and turns to run. 


End file.
